


Blowing (Shit Up And Other Forms Thereof)

by psychomachia



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Blow Jobs, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Someone Watched The Cyberpunk 2077 Trailer, gratuitous technology, walking away from an explosion with a drink in one hand and a laser rifle in the other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 16:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: Every day should start with a bang.





	Blowing (Shit Up And Other Forms Thereof)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts).

Tycho's just about to lift his laser pistol and try to shoot John in the forehead, which is patently stupid because it's already smoking and overheated and is just going to melt his hand off, when everything behind him explodes.

Technically, it's about eleven brand new hovercars, a halfway demolished VertiRaptor, and a highly flammable tanker of plasma, and most of it isn't John's fault. You can't just send these things after him and expect to get them back in functioning order.

It's also enough of a distraction for John to whip out his own pistol, shoot Tycho in his forehead, and dive for cover before several pieces of flying metal try to take off his head.

He's back on his feet quick enough, though, to see Winston walking out from behind the wreckage, carrying a laser rifle under one arm while holding a probably very expensive glass of cognac in the other.

Show-off. John would like to point out he did it first with a rocket launcher and a beer, but the fact that Winston has actually left his damn hotel to do his own wetwork is amazing enough that he thinks seriously about applauding. “I had it handled,” John says, toeing the body. “And aren't you supposed to be trying to kill me right now?”

Winston takes a sip, steps neatly over the corpses nearby and walks up to John. “Jonathan, while there are past circumstances that have made our relationship more difficult to navigate, it has become clear to me that our current path is not sustainable.”

John Wick is a stoic man of little words and great violence, which is why he answers this bullshit with, “Okay, who did you fucking piss off now?”

Winston raises his eyebrows. “You assume that it was me?”

“Well, if it was me, you'd just give me a head's up and then let me fend for myself.”

“And yet you have clearly moved past any resentment about it.”

“Sure,” John says. “Killing a hell of a lot of people is a good way of working that out.”

“Well, you are correct,” Winston admits. “It appears that the High Table has decided The Continental is no longer an investment they wish to maintain. As a result, I have received word that despite multiple assurances made about my safety in recompense for certain actions taken, several orbital lasers are being readied to remove it and all obstacles pertaining to it from the Earth.”

“Who knew they'd betray us so completely?” John says. “If you can't trust a bunch of backstabbers, then who can you?”

“I am gratified to hear you say us. Can I assume that at least for the moment, whatever issues we need to resolve can be put on hold until our lives are no longer in danger?”

John pretends to think about it, but he and Winston both know what his answer will be. “Yeah,” he says. But to just to make things more interesting, he follows up with, “But I want an advance. Call it a partial payment for all the shit you owe me for.”

Nice. Winston's giving him that look that says, I know what you're up to, Jonathan, and you had better stop it. “This is hardly the place.”

“It's exactly the place. I know you're interested. Don't lie and say you're not.”

“I would never lie to you,” Winston says. “Just not give you the full truth.”

John rolls his eyes and begins to take off Winston's jacket. It's got a few scorched holes in it, which has to piss him off, but the nanofiber did its job and he's alive, so it's a fair trade. His shirt didn't do much better, and John can see where one of the bullets managed to worm its way to graze his skin. “You let this one get a little close,” he says.

“I can't stop all of them.” Winston's hands move towards John's shoulders, laying heavy upon them. "You've always assumed I have a plan for everything."

"You usually do," John says. "So what's the one now?"

Winston smiles, leans forward and gives John a quick, surprisingly deep and dirty kiss that is completely unfair, given his next words. “At least let us get somewhere a bit less conspicuous.”

* * *

Less conspicuous turns out to be a grubby shack by Winston's standards and a pretty decent safehouse by John's. It's got a bed, a cooler, and some decent military shutters, so there's not much more they could ask for. There's a hub there too, but John firewalled his port when everything first went to shit and Winston's got some sort of off-grid system that John's never going to know the full extent of, no matter how much he pries around. Trust only goes so far when it comes to people getting into your head.

John finishes what he started and soon Winston's standing there shirtless, still fucking dignified as ever. He never really seems to ever lose control around anyone, no matter the circumstances, and John's heard rumors that he had his blood taken out, replaced by some sort of coolant.

Like everything his colleagues talk about, it's pure shit. You can get a rise out of him if you know how.

And John has learned it intimately.

He strips off his shirt quickly, lets Winston take a good look at what he's been missing. Shows him the new scars, the lines that twist up and down his back that say, this is what you did to me. Almost everyone tells him he should get them removed, and he tells them he'll get around to it.

But Winston knows why he keeps them. It's the same reason he'll never go through the process. It reminds you that you're human. That you can die.

Not tonight, though. Tonight is for getting on his damn knees.

Winston's already hard, waiting for him, so some part of him is fully truthful. John takes him into his mouth, all the way. He doesn't do anything half-assed and if this is the last night he'll have, he'll make it count.

“Jonathan,” Winston murmurs. “I am sorry.”

Of course he is, though what he's apologizing for tonight is up for grabs. The excommunication? His dead friends? Getting him into this whole mess in the first place? John just hums, lets his teeth scrape just a little bit to show he's not fully forgiven. Not yet.

Winston just grabs John's hair, pulls it in a warning. John wants to grin, but there's a man in front of him who needs to be sucked off and really, it's only polite to give him what he wants. Winston taught him that too. “Always be respectful, Jonathan,” he said. “A young man like yourself needs all the advantages he can take.”

Then he gave him his first suit and handjob in the fitting room, the tailor waiting patiently outside for them to finish. It didn't take long, John, as fumbling and excited as he was that day. He got better, able to go longer, keep steadier, but he still gets that rush every time he sees Winston, like a dog seeing his master come home.

Fuck. At least his dog's not wrapped in this fucking mess.

Tonight, it doesn't take long either, before Winston's coming, John swallowing it down. He knows Winston doesn't like a mess and he'll take that taste over the constant taste of blood and ash he lives with every day now.

Winston takes a deep breath, lets John rise to his feet, wipe him off and tuck him back in. John's hard now, too, but he can take care of it himself tonight before they both get some rest. They won't have much time left.

“Jonathan,” Winston says, then hesitates.

“Later,” John answers, and will make sure there is one.

Winston still needs to pay him back.


End file.
